Whisper
by charrrmed
Summary: After surviving a herd and an explosion with Rick, Michonne feels alive. Rick, on the other hand, is preoccupied with what could've gone wrong. Despite being constrained by an occupied car, Michonne decides to give him some of her optimism. Set in 6x09 Rock in the Road.


**Whisper**

Michonne couldn't get a hold of the adrenaline coursing through her blood. She was too excited to decide where exactly slicing through a herd of walkers with Rick while they drove separate, hot-wired cars, only to ditch said cars and fight their way through said herd to get to relative safety, to then have most of the herd blow up behind them as they were driven away, ranked on the list of hairy situations she'd squeezed herself out of.

But something was different about this one. She felt alive. She felt…

She focused on Rick, listened to him trying to catch his breath. "We're the ones who get to live," she repeated again.

Rick nodded. That was what he should be focusing on. He should be smiling. They were alive, and they'd added serious ammo to their paltry collection. But he was stuck thinking about everything that could've gone wrong. He knew that he'd made the right decision in telling them to collect as many of the explosives as possible. But now he imagined one or several going off and losing Sasha, Rosita, Carl, or Michonne. Hell, maybe himself. He imagined the walkers getting to them sooner than they'd anticipated. He imagined failing to beat the Saviors to Alexandria, because he'd chosen to use critical time to steal the explosives. He imagined them opening the gates and finding the streets of Alexandria colored with drying blood.

"Rick," Michonne called in his ear.

He wanted to tell her to keep repeating it for him. They're alive. They get to live. Because neither was sinking in at the moment.

Michonne knew she was losing him. Ezekiel had been a total disappointment, and Morgan hadn't helped any. Negan was on the way to Alexandria, and, truthfully, all they could do was hope that he did as little damage as possible, because they could not tip their hand before they got even half of the manpower that they needed.

She didn't believe that Rick would change his mind about fighting, but he definitely wasn't riding the wave of optimism that she was. Hell, she was probably the most optimistic person in the car right now.

She tucked his sweat-soaked hair behind his ear and bit the lobe, gently, at first, then she quickly increased the pressure.

A tremor of pleasure went through Rick. He huffed out a breath and took his ear out of her mouth. He was shocked by her unexpected action, but when he looked at her for an explanation, she only smiled at him.

That was one way to halt the flow of his pessimistic thoughts.

He leaned toward her ear and whispered, "The stakes are-"

"Shhhh." She sucked his earlobe into her mouth and soothed it with her tongue, tasting the salt of his skin.

Rick blinked and leaned into her lips, his dick thickening in response to the leisurely sucking that his ear was getting.

"I know how high the stakes are," Michonne whispered. "I know. But I want you here."

He _had_ pushed it. And it had worked. And seeing him struggle to live in their little win now, she realized that he hadn't just pushed it with the herd, he'd pushed it with himself. To move past the trauma of Glenn and Abraham's deaths, the trauma of almost having to chop off his son's arm, and _do_ something against Negan.

He'd pushed himself, and she couldn't be more proud of him. Pushing past his fears to show up and get the work done was how he'd steadily won her heart in the first place.

She couldn't want him more.

She moved her hand from his thigh and began to massage his crotch. The fact that he was already a little hard amped up her excitement. The question that popped up in his eyes was icing on the cake.

She licked her lips and surreptitiously glanced at Tara and Rosita, seated in the front. She didn't want to look at Carl, who was seated next to her by the window, for fear of bringing his attention to them. It would be up to Rick to let her know how risqué she was being in that regard.

She took off the glove on her right hand, the hand closest to the seat. She thought a bit more about how this was going to play out and decided to take off her other glove, too.

She smiled slyly at Rick, and then, in her normal voice, she asked, "Rosita, where'd you learn how to do that?"

"I was training to be an EOD Specialist for the Army," Rosita answered simply.

"What's that?" Carl asked.

"Explosive Ordnance Disposal Specialist. I was right there, too, end of my training, ready for my assignment, and then this bullshit happened. Excuse my language," she said flatly, for the sake of Carl's...she supposed they were both his parents.

"Why that, of all things?" Tara asked. "Don't get me wrong, I think it's totally badass. I wanted to be a cop."

"Wanted?" Rosita asked sullenly. "Did your family hold you back, too? Made you waste time that you're literally never gonna get back now?"

Michonne was never listening. Rosita's answers to her and Carl's questions had provided the cover that she needed to slide Rick's zipper down without alerting the whole car. She did silently thank Carl and Tara for being the inquisitive people they were, because they'd turned her question into a whole conversation. And Tara was all too happy to talk about her former career plans.

 _She_ , meanwhile, pulled Rick's dick out.

Rick nervously grabbed her wrist. He didn't stop her. He just grabbed her wrist. He looked over her shoulder at Carl, who was completely engaged with the two women sitting in front.

He returned his attention to Michonne. Her skin glistened with sweat, and she was smiling at him. Whispering in her ear, he asked, "What are you doing?"

"Living," she whispered, so articulately that he pictured her talented tongue touching her teeth as she spoke.

Michonne shifted in her seat and raised her left thigh a little to protect Rick's modesty should Tara or Rosita, for whatever reason, happen to look back their way. Although, she smiled at the fact that what they were doing was the opposite of modest.

With a firm hold on his meat, she began to stroke him, determined to make it good, considering she was working with the arm that was pressed against the chair, but it was the best way to remain incognito.

She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to tongue him down until he was dizzy, straddle him and take off her top, her bra, and shove his face into her chest. She wanted to slide his pants down just enough, wanted him to rid her of hers, pull her underwear to the side and order her to get on top and ride.

As much as she'd been worried about their vulnerability with the herd headed their way, she was ecstatic to have _done_ something with him again. She was happy to be out here with him instead of by herself, making decisions with him, instead of by herself. She was happy to be coming up with a solution with him. She was happy to see him again.

Rick kept a light hold on her wrist, tugging it forward when he wanted her to stroke faster, and pushing it back when he wanted her to slow down. They didn't have an abundance of time, but he didn't want this to end. He was greedy when her hands were on him, never wanting it to end, especially _near_ the end.

He wished that he could reciprocate in any way that wouldn't become obvious, but she had the advantage, and he was blissfully at her mercy. He settled for closing his other hand on the back of her damp neck. He didn't miss the heat that flashed in her eyes in response.

He tugged her wrist, and she stroked faster, focusing on the mushroom head of his dick, working it like a knob, and he folded his lips to endure the incredible sensation.

She smiled so sensually, so smug and so proud of herself that he couldn't resist doing _something_. He glanced behind her at Carl, who was saying something that he could honestly not make out, then glanced at the front of the car, and then he captured Michonne's bottom lip between his teeth. He nipped it over and over, which earned his dick a hearty squeeze.

To his surprise, she engaged him in a battle for dominance by attempting to nip his lower lip before he could get hers. He eagerly countered her, tugging her wrist to ask her to go faster and wishing they were alone, sitting in the back of an abandoned car that they'd chosen on a run instead of in the company of three people who were yammering about who the hell knew what.

He moved in to kiss her, and Michonne pulled back. He used the hand on her neck to push her head toward him and feverishly whispered in her ear, " _I win_."

Michonne didn't give a shit. Her nipples and clit were hard, and she was dripping on her underwear, and there was no release in sight for her, because when they returned home, they'd have to deal with the fucking Saviors.

But she at least had this for now: Rick putty in her hand, his dick twitching and leaking precum as he tugged her wrist for her to jack him off faster. She imagined how much more she could do to his dick with her hands alone, how much slower she could take this if they had the time and privacy, and her vagina clenched in desperation.

She circled the flat of her palm around the tip of his dick to capture the precum, and he curled into her, briefly squeezing his eyes shut from the stimuli.

"Come on, baby," she whispered, bringing him closer to heaven. "Come for me. Let it go. Give it to me. I want it. I _want_ it."

She kept her machinations on the head of his dick, brushing her palm across the tip as she rubbed him in fast circles, and it was all Rick could do not to release the moan he held in his throat, not to fidget from the pleasure. It was all he could do to reign in his shallow breaths as if the woman facing him wasn't giving him the time of his fucking life.

He looked down at what was happening. The head of his suffering dick was tinged a deep shade of pink in her merciful hand. His dick was straining as far away from his pants as it could, and he wanted so badly to thrust into her hands.

His orgasm was imminent, and he moved his hand from her wrist to tug her forearm. Michonne surprised him again and bit his earlobe hard, and the unexpected pain made him unravel in her hands. He plunged into the throes of orgasm. His hold on her neck tightened slightly as his stomach contracted, and his hips bucked toward her.

His semen shot out with more force than Michonne had anticipated and some of it got on the hem of her shirt before she quickly used her other hand as a receptacle.

After he was spent, she continued to rub the tip with her palm, just the way he liked it, and he wanted to scream. What he wouldn't give to push her head down to his balls in that moment.

He pushed her forearm back when he reached his limit, and she changed her focus to stroking his length.

Rick bit his lip and expelled a quiet, shuddering breath.

"Really?" she whispered.

Her breath on his ear made him shudder again. She pulled back from him and gestured at the pool of come in her cupped hand.

He pushed her in and whispered, "You wanted it. I gave it to you."

When he pulled back, he smiled at her.

 _You're smiling,_ she mouthed to him.

He pushed her in and whispered, "You went to great lengths to make it happen."

"Lengths I can handle, and you damn well know it," she whispered.

And didn't he fucking know it.

He'd gone from collecting bombs, to driving a wire through a herd, to escaping an explosion, to orgasming turbulently in her hand, all in less than twenty minutes. He was with her now, riding the same wave, smiling, because they're alive, and they're the ones who get to live.

And as soon as it was feasible, he was going to be the one who gets to have her face down, ass up, pushing the length that she handled so well into her wet, open pussy while she grabbed at whatever was underneath her and moaned with every stroke as he aimed for her sweet spot and squeezed her plump ass.

 **The End**


End file.
